Daddies and Sniffles
by xxDodo
Summary: When it comes to a sick toddler Sammy, sometimes Dean as an awesome big bro just isn't enough. Sammy wants his daddy too. Weechesters! / sick!Sammy, bigbro!Dean and, after a few mistrials, nice-daddy Johnny


**Daddies and Sniffles  
**

* * *

"Daddy..." Sammy called pitifully. "Don' feel good..."

Dean – pointedly not the child's father – was there immediately, pushing his little brother back into the pillows with a soothing, "'s alright, Sammy, you're just a little sick. You'll feel better after a nap."

Sam shook his head vehemently, struggling against Dean's efforts. "Nuh-uh!" he said forcefully. "Not tiwed!"

Dean sighed, and John glanced up briefly from his task of studying his journal at the small motel room's coffee table. They both weren't surprised, considering Sammy'd _never _wanted to go to bed, ever since he'd been born really. It was always a struggle to get the youngest Winchester to calm down long enough for lights out, fierce stubbornness flowing through Sammy along with a deadly weapon of puppy-dog eyes.

"Just lay your head down, kiddo," Dean tried when it became clear that John wasn't going to be of any help. The father obviously assumed his eldest could handle the problem, and Dean was proud to say that when it came to Sammy, things were _his _responsibility.

"Don' wanna," the three-year-old complained, looking beseechingly at his brother before turning to his father. "Daddyyy," he called again.

"Dean, watch your brother," John said absently, and Dean forced back an indignant huff. He _was _watching his brother; couldn't the man see Sammy didn't want Dean right then?

Sighing, Sam curled up miserably in his little Sammy-ball, sniffling through his stuffy nose.

Sam felt all hot and sticky, but shivered when he took the blanket off. He still couldn't breathe through his nose, even though he'd blown snot out more times than he thought he could count. Dean had offered to tell him a story, but the child still felt feverish and sick.

Dean sighed again, wanting to affectionately tell his brother to stop whining and then distract the kid from his head cold with some cool games he knew Sammy loved. But the three-year-old wasn't in the mood – all he wanted was to be comfortable enough to sleep. And comfortable, for the moment in Sam's mind, was with his father and brother on either side of him.

"Wan' Daddy, De'," Sam said woefully.

"Aw, c'mon," Dean responded, patting his brother lightly on the arm. "What happened to spending time with the best big bro in the world?"

But Sammy just looked at his brother, uncertainty etched on his face and Dean hesitated, glancing once more at their father. He understood the what the man did, and from the hazy memories of his mother that he clung to Dean could understand John's reasoning for the countless hunts. But sometimes, if just for Sammy's sake, Dean wished his father would pay attention to what was in front of him.

"_I'm_ here," Dean said confidently, flopping down on his back beside his brother. "Now go to sleep, squirt."

Sammy's face scrunched up, and Dean barely had time to groan before the toddler shouted out a defiant "_No!" _and kicked out with his small leg, nailing Dean in the side.

"Ow," the seven-year-old muttered, scowling at his brother's tantrum.

"Sam," came the stern reprimand from the other side of the room, causing both children to freeze. Sammy's lower lip wobbled, the misery of being sick, lack of his father's attention, and all-around exhaustion contributing to the cranky toddler's urge to cry.

"Aw, Sammy," Dean said, already forgiven his brother and set on making the child feel better. Taking a breath, Dean turned to his father, trying to explain, "Dad, he's just upset 'cause he's sick and tired."

There was a brief pause, then John sighed closing his eyes briefly. "I know that, Dean," the older hunter said wearily, obviously not being in the best of moods that night, but trying to hold onto some patience. "I'm sorry, Ace. What's going on?"

Dean hesitated, but plunged ahead. "He wants you," he voiced quietly. "Just for a bit, Dad."

Immediately John felt a deep sense of shame. _Dammit_, he cursed himself, hating that his eldest had to ask like it was a favor. John managed to snap himself out of the brooding mood he'd been in due to the failure of his latest hunt, pushing aside the feelings by focusing on his sick youngest. The man stopped briefly in the bathroom to run a towel under some cold water before making his way over to the two boys, perching on the edge of the bed to run his fingers through Sammy's sweaty bangs.

"Here, kiddo," he soothed, calming Sam's quiet whimpering with the damp cloth and, with the help of Dean, getting him back under the covers. John shot his other son a quick glance. "Thanks, Deano," he said quietly, and Dean ducked his head, feeling that familiar happiness when his father was proud of him.

The elder brother then opened up a tattered book the family had picked up from a library a few states over. John, for his part, would have remained on the edge of the bed if Sammy had not reached out a hand to tug on his father's sleeve.

"Yeah, Sammy?" John asked, flipping over the towel.

Sam didn't answer for a moment, his thumb planted firmly in his mouth, just tugged some more. Finally he said quietly, "You too. Pwease."

John felt a smile tug on his mouth. _God, Sammy..._ He turned and leaned back against the wall, feeling the toddler curl up against him as the kid shut his eyes and listened to his big brother make his way slowly but surely through the story.

Slightly ashamed that it had taken him this long to make his youngest feel better, John sighed quietly to himself and glanced upward briefly. He'd stopped believing what seemed like a long time ago, however, and his gaze traveled to his boys instead.

Dean's confident voice filled the air as he read – for what seemed like the hundredth time – from the worn storybook of knights in shining armor and slayed dragons, Sammy listening eagerly, though his eyes were now drooping and thumb slacking out of his mouth.

It was a scene well-versed from the countless motel rooms, except Sammy was tucked against his father rather than by Dean's side, and by the smile on his still-feverish face, he'd never felt more content.

John smiled slightly to himself, glad to be a part of this routine... Even if he knew it would only be for a little while.

* * *

**A/N-**

Aw...Johnny...*sigh*

Weechesters! :3 *clears throat* I'd like to dedicate this idea to **agent iz hyper_, _**because of her recently posted 'dorable weechester story (called "When Responsibilities Suck," which you should totally go read *prods* and review!) which spurred my fluff bunnies into total hyper freak-out mode O.O Way ta go iz ;) Oh, and bro, stop getting so ahead of me story-wise :P Jeez.

Y'all have no idea how many times I altered this. It just didn't. Sound. _Right. _*huffs* Took forever. *pokes it* But anyway! Review with what ya thought? :3 's a nice thing to do and all. *nods*

Thanks!~  
Dodo


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